


Over the Hills and Far Away

by E350tb



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: 19th Century, F/F, F/M, Georgian Period, Napoleonic Wars, Period Typical Attitudes, Regency, War, Yes the title is in fact a Sharpe reference
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26386750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/E350tb/pseuds/E350tb
Summary: Disgruntled and hurt by her beloved's new flame, Pearl absconds from home, disguised as a man. And where else can a wandering vagrant go but into the army?
Relationships: Pearl/Rose Quartz (Steven Universe), Rose Quartz/Greg Universe
Comments: 12
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter the First: In Which Our Heroine, Feeling the Attentions of Her Beloved Turned Elsewhere, Elects to Abscond from Her Home, Disguised as a Man.

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write this for years.
> 
> Special thanks to NewLense for proofreading!

**Chapter the First**

_In Which Our Heroine, Feeling the Attentions of Her Beloved Turned Elsewhere, Elects to Abscond from Her Home, Disguised as a Man._

For as long as she could remember, Pearl had lived on the Weald, where the forests had once blanketed the south east of England. Her domain was that of chalk hills, small stone houses and farms, the white cliffs and the churning ocean of the Channel. She had been born here, her family had lived here since the time of the Saxons, and she would have expected to die here.

Would have expected, of course, were it not for recent developments.

Her family lived on the lands of the Diamonds. For generations, they had been the lords of the manor, and all the common folk of the chalk hills paid due to them. Their wealth had survived the squabbling of the barons, the civil wars, and the coming of King William. At the end of the seventeenth century, they had grown enormously powerful on trades in capital, produce and humanity, but the collapse of the South Sea Company had ruined them. Their once mighty empire was reduced to a few small farms and villages; the little farm of Pearl’s family among them.

The menfolk of the Diamonds were not well regarded; one was off as a soldier of fortune in the East India Company, and a few others had been sent to distant colonial postings like the Cape and Van Diemen’s Land, where they could do no harm. It was the women who truly commanded respect, if occasionally condescending, for their business prowess. Coal in the Black Country was the new great moneymaker, and the ladies of the manor would spend weeks at a time away from home, around Birmingham and Liverpool, investing in all manner of mines.

All except one.

Rose Quartz was the youngest of the four ladies, barely of age in that summer of 1811. Heavyset and regarded as being uncommonly beautiful, she boasted admirers from lords to earls to the Prince of Wales himself. Yet these men bored her (or in Prinny’s case, revolted her), and her tastes were far more common, and to the great men of England, far more vulgar. Rumours followed her wherever she traveled, claiming that her tastes were far more… _feminine_ than most.

Pearl ought to have known, considering she was one of those _feminine tastes._

She had met Rose in the spring of 1808, and it had been love at first sight; secret love, as even a lady of wealth could not be seen courting a servant, never mind a servant girl, but passionate love nonetheless. Those spring and summer days in the chalk hills had passed like a whirlwind, singing and laughing and living in each other's arms. Napoleon himself could have landed on the Kentish coast, and they would not have noticed him, so in love they were.

But then came the winter. January 1811 had seen the arrival of a budding musician - a _musician_ , of all things - by the name of Gregory Universe. And suddenly Pearl awoke from the dreamlike splendour of passion.

It started with flirtation, but then it was intimacy, and finally it was romance. Pearl found herself bringing them food and drinks and listening to her long speeches about how much she loved him, and trying desperately to ignore the writhing emptiness inside as she realised she was being tossed away. Her home slowly became a prison, and Greg Universe was the unwitting warden that locked down her heart. And slowly, ever so slowly, the situation became intolerable.

It must be understood that Pearl’s frame had always been slight, and her looks had often been described as frankly _boyish_. As Rose and Greg sunk ever deeper into their own little world, Pearl had been taking a closer note of the fashions of the male servants and workers around her - how they walked, talked and dressed, and how she might imitate them. In her family’s old, drafty farmhouse, she dug up her deceased father’s old clothes, kept in waiting for a son who had never materialised.

In the end, there was no great plan, only an idea - to abscond in the night for the north, for those great coal mines and mills where money could be made, or even a swift ship over the sea to Boston. Perhaps she could be a sailor, or a poacher, or a hundred other professions. Anywhere had to be better than here, suffocating with a smile as a forgotten, discarded trinket.

When she departed in the gloomy autumn darkness with only the stars to guide her, the very last place on her mind was Spain. 

Fate, on the other hand, had other ideas.


	2. Chapter the Second: In Which Our Heroine Arrived in the Town of Tenterden, and is There Enticed to Take the King’s Shilling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really am enjoying coming up with these chapter titles.
> 
> Thanks to NewLease for proofreading!

**Chapter the Second**

_In Which Our Heroine Arrived in the Town of Tenterden, and is There Enticed to Take the King’s Shilling._

For untold generations, the social hub of the people of England had not been the distant city of London, that marvel that most would never hope to see, but the market towns that dotted the landscape. When Pearl walked into the town of Tenterden, she was treading paths that had been well worn by the Romans.

It was a market day when she arrived. The farmers had come down from the countryside with their produce - the days were getting shorter, and they had high hopes to sell enough to last the cold winter months. Horseshoes and wagon wheels clattered on weathered cobblestone as they came and went, the focus of their activities being the high street in the centre of town. There, the sellers set up their wares on the green, and business was thus conducted.

It was not simply the farmers who were bustling about. As Pearl approached the green, she saw a well-dressed man standing on a cart, proselytising passionately to a small gathering. Next to him was a placard which read ‘A Lecture on the Evils of Republicanism and Bonapartism.’ He told lurid tales of guillotines and butchery, and men tied into sacks and hurled into rivers. A few of his audience turned to each other, nodded and muttered gruffly.

Pearl had dressed conservatively for her flight - an old black coat, a stained shirt and breeches, a pair of worn brown riding boots and a ragged bicorne. It certainly wasn’t in fashion, but it did the part of making her look like a travelling worker. And where would a travelling worker head first but to the local inn?

She had just reached the door of the nearest pub - the _Merry Cavalier_ \- when she heard a peculiar sound on the wind.

_Tum. Tum. Rum-tum-tum. Tum. Tum. Rum-tum-tum._

Down the street strode a small party of men. At their head was an old, balding man, a baton under his arm. He was dressed in a smart red jacket, buttons shining like stars in the sunlight, a red-and-black sash over his waist. His breeches were a spotless white, and his tall boots were freshly shined. A tall black hat with a brass plate finished the man’s costume. A drummer, dressed largely the same but with a yellow coat, walked behind him, as did a bearded gentleman in a top hat. At the back were three soldiers, muskets over their shoulders.

This, Pearl quickly divined, was a recruiting party.

The recruiting sergeant strode forward, a few of his men grabbing a barrel and setting it up on the road in front of the tavern. With some difficulty he climbed atop it and cleared his throat - a small gaggle of townsfolk wandered over to see what he had to say.

“Afternoon, me lads, afternoon!” he exclaimed, waving his baton in the air. “My name is Sergeant Briggs of ‘is Majesty’s pride, the South Essex Regiment! And I am offering you, m’ boys, the opportunity of a lifetime!”

A few men shared glances. One shook his head with a scoff and strolled away, but most chose to stay and hear the fellow out.

“By now,” he boomed, “I’m sure you’ve ‘eard of our great English ‘ero, the Duke of Wellington, and ‘ow ‘e licked the frogs at Albuera! A defeat, I am sure, that still troubles ol’ Boney when ‘e sits ‘imself down!”

There was a laugh - some found the joke more amusing than others. Pearl wasn’t so tickled, if she was honest, but it seemed patriotic to give a quiet chuckle.

“Now the King, god bless ‘im, ‘as ordered a final march into Spain to knock the _ooo-_ zurper, Joseph Boney-parte, back to the Jacobin mob that spawned ‘im! And for that, ‘e needs you!”

He waved his baton across the group of men before him.

“Are you stout, proud Englishmen, me boys?” he asked. “Are you loyal, true n’ brave?”

A cheer rang out.

“Well then, if you’ve the stomach, the King ‘as asked me to provide you a gift!”

He reached into his jacket and produced a small, silver coin. He held it with a countenance of reverie, as if he were carrying the crown of His Majesty the King himself.

“This, m’ boys,” he said, “is a shilling, given from the King’s ‘and to mine, to all men true enough to stand proud against a frog’s bay’n’it, ‘oo’s willin’ to stand up for good, English liberties against Boney’s tyranny.”

He raised it high.

“Would you call that tyrant your Emperor?”

“No!” came the cry.

“Would you ‘ave a French flag flyin’ over this town?”

“NO!”

“Would you let some frog ravage your wives, your children?”

“ _NO!_ ”

“Well then!” The sergeant jumped down and held out the shilling. “Will you take this shilling, and prove yourself a man?”

There was a long silence as each man in the crowd gazed at the shilling.

Now, Pearl was not a fool. She knew the sergeant’s silk words were draped over a life that was sure to be hard and fraught with danger. Yet she knew, if she desired to get as far away from the Weald as possible, the war in Spain was her best bet; or at least, the best bet that did not involve a one-way ticket to Van Diemen's Land.

She took a long breath and took a shaky, uneasy step forward.

Sergeant Briggs’ eyes were on her in an instant; she sensed the gaze of a predator upon her skin, a feeling all too familiar to one who had served in the grand houses of the lecherous elite. Yet this was no carnal desire, no imbecile in silk stocking hoping to bed a loose wench and be on his way; this was the stare of a wolf gazing upon a lamb, the shepherd having turned his back.

He was the fisherman, and she the first catch of the day.

He climbed down awkwardly from his barrel, and Pearl scarcely had time to raise her hand before he was planting the revered shilling in her palm, a wide, manic smile on his countenance. He lifted her hand, as if she were a prize fighter.

“This man,” he exclaimed, “‘as proven ‘imself as true an Englishman as any today! Who will stand with ‘im?”

He let go of her hand, patting her hard on the back.

“Welcome to the British Army, son,” he said, winking.

Pearl gazed at the shilling in her palm, her stomach sinking as she pondered her situation. She began to wonder if she had not made a calamitous mistake.


End file.
